Trials
by unexpectedmocha
Summary: AU. It all started with a sheep. [On hiatus]


**A/N:** **While I very slowly work through updates to SCW, I thought I might start posting this as a bit of filler (you know, as a reminder I'm still kicking around). ****It began life during COI's down period, ten chapters of varying discreet lengths. Please consider it a writing exercise more than a proper fic.  
**

* * *

It began with a sheep. Perhaps more accurately it began with a sodding Percheron, but that bit occurred later; so let us say that it began with the sheep. Naomi sat belted into the back seat of her mother's ancient car, her bones rattling alongside the numerous jars of honey that surrounded her as they bumped along the rural lane. She was accustomed to such outings, but hadn't ever been so far from home. For the five years prior to that one (her sixth), she'd been obliged to stay with her nan when her mum traveled beyond the county border. Stretching up far enough to see out, she squinted eastward toward the tents and pens and paddocks that had sprung up on the horizon in the centre of a flatish area of green pasture flanked by wooden fencing and low stone walls.

"Here we are, Naomi," Gina said as she turned off the engine. "Remember to stay close to me."

Not normally being a disobedient child, the threat of being separated from her mother in a strange place full of strange people impressed upon her the seriousness of the request. She nodded solemnly when her mother turned to look at her.

"Right then, let's get the tables set."

Naomi clambered into the cool of the morning. A brisk breeze fluttered the canvas flaps and banners, easily pushing Naomi's fringe back from her forehead. She dutifully carried her share of the load, which was two measures of raw amber, in Gina's wake. It was early yet, with only the other vendors milling about in their allotted tent space. In a few hours it would be bustling with folk from the surrounding villages, stockmen and spectators alike. Their table was at the corner, soon festooned with Gina's black cloth and gold signage. The boxes of unsold stock they hid beneath the table, stacked on the wilting turf that had already been crushed underfoot. Naomi's task in all of this was the most important, or so said Gina. It was the most important, because she was the bee.

When honey was laid out in a pattern her mother found pleasing to the eye, Naomi would strip off behind a curtain and don her tiny bee suit. There were yellow tights, a striped tunic, and small antennae to round out the ensemble. If not for the thrill of the journey she might have refused, as the premise was finally just beginning to chafe. Her mother didn't make the bees dress like people when they collected their pollen, so the entire business seemed a double standard. Naomi was meant to use all her faculties to convince even grizzled old men that they ought to go inside and buy more honey than they could eat in a year. What she didn't now was that when she scampered off reluctantly to advertise her mother's wares, Gina gave herself over to a long and silent laughing fit, hoarding the photos for future embarrassment.

Instead, she trailed out beyond the flap as the first of the judgings commenced and petulantly kicked at the dirt. Dairy cattle were being moved from their stalls to the judges' tent by the sound of the angry mooing. For a time she danced listlessly from foot to foot. Then she crouched down and examined the black insects crawling over the petals of purple clover blossoms. There were other children running about but she didn't dare join them; the grounds were crowded and she legitimately feared being unable to find her way back. Eventually all she knew was that it was very bright out, and the sun burned hotly on the dark parts of her outfit. The memory would be fuzzy as she tried to recall it later, but when it came time to point fingers she blamed the sheep.

It wasn't as though Naomi had never _seen_ a sheep before because the bloody hills were covered with the things. For all that, she hardly knew what she was staring down at a distance of sixty feet while the ewe traversed the stretch of grass from one pen to the next. Naomi was no proper expert on ovines and could barely discern the arse from the elbow, but the ewe was dainty with slender black legs and dense creamy wool. No, if she was being quite honest, she knew why that sheep drew her gaze. Because two girls, very alike in their appearance, were handling it, moving the miniscule ewe with a halter and lead fashioned from rope.

Naomi, however, mostly noticed the singular _girl_. The one standing at the ewe's flank that glanced back her way, and, at the sight of Naomi lingering there slack jawed, smiled, a simple quirk up of one side of her mouth before the other girl tugged at her arm. Mesmerised, Naomi had half crossed the field before she realised she'd lost sight of that girl completely. Worse, she'd also lost sight of her mother's table in the forest of legs and passing cattle. She scrambled back until she was brought up short against the side of a goat pen, one of the beasts leaping up to chew at the shoulder of her tunic through the fencing. When a Scouse shepherd knelt beside her what felt like hours after, she was howling, her tunic sodden and ravaged by goats.

"Where can we find your mum, lass?" he asked kindly, lifting her to rescue her from the billies.

Stoically wiping her face, Naomi whispered into his ear. He carried her back the few dozen yards to Gina, and she could see easily from the height of his arms how close she'd been if only she'd been brave enough to go searching. Gina thanked him profusely, scolding Naomi gently before comforting her with a cup of Horlick's. While she waited there on her square of sod, she recalled the Scouser shepherd, and the way he'd smelled of sheep, of fleece and lanolin. She wondered if everyone with sheep smelled the same.


End file.
